


Circle of Life

by alexjanna91



Series: Witch Bucky [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Magic, Minor Character Death, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-04 15:30:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14596077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexjanna91/pseuds/alexjanna91
Summary: Weaving magic was a labor of love, more so when laboring for those you love. Bucky had more love, and more magic, than most. He had no problem exhausting himself of either for those he cared about. Sarah Rogers, his best friend’s mother, was no exception.





	Circle of Life

*

Word had just come, Sarah Rogers was dying. The tuberculosis had taken too much of a hold and there was no hope of recovery. Steve was heartbroken and the whole neighborhood was mourning. But no matter how much everyone wanted there was nothing any of them could do. 

She had all the symptoms and no amount of medicine was easing the worst of them. She was in pain and having trouble breathing and would cough into a handkerchief that did nothing to hide the blood splattering the white cotton. 

There was nothing the doctors to could do for her, but there was something Bucky could. 

No amount of magic no matter how powerful, well meaning, or desperate could ward off Death, not when it was truly one’s time. No, Bucky wouldn’t be able to save Sarah, but he could ease her pain. Make her passing easier for her. And that was just what he intended to do.

“You must be the one to do it,” Bucky’s ma said to him when he told her what he was going to do. “You love her almost as if she were a second mother to you. And she loves you too. You must be the one to work the magic.”

Working magic, when broken down, wasn’t all that complicated. Though those witches with less respect or talent for the art often thought it was. And honestly it could be complicated when the spell or the magic a witch was trying to weave was extraordinarily difficult. But a spell to ease the dying, it was a common goal and had a certain set of guidelines all witches followed when weaving it. The spell was half following the guidelines and half letting your instinctual magic guide you the rest of the way.

It was a spell you could weave generically and many witches did. They brewed the potion, cast the spell, bottled the end result and sold it. There wasn’t anything wrong with that, but if you wanted a spell to be as powerful as it possibly could be, the witch had to personalize it. Bucky had always had a knack for personalizing. 

Having never had to cast a death soothing spell before, Bucky pulled out the magic tomes his mother had brought over from Romania. Also the books about the native magic in the Americas she had acquired after finally settling in Brooklyn to start a family. 

He let the magic inside him point him in the right direction. He spent hours searching through the tomes hunting for the perfect ingredients to use in the potion that would, in conjunction with a spell, ease Sarah Rogers’ pain and bring her peace. 

It was midnight when Bucky was finally satisfied with the potion recipe he’d created. 

First and probably the hardest ingredient to find would be abalone shell. It wasn’t an ingredient he’d grown up learning how to use. There were no abalone in Romania and most all the magic he worked had basis in his mother’s homeland since she is the witch that taught him. Abalone and its uses in magic was purely an American Indian tradition and Bucky felt it was necessary to use it in Sarah’s spell because the New World was a refuge for both their families and the land they now call home. 

The other ingredients would be easily come by. His family’s small herb garden would yield several of them and most of the rest were only two pennies each at the flower shop down the block.

But the abalone he’d have to trade for. 

Bucky’s magic was thrumming inside him and he wouldn’t be able to sleep until it was finished, so he pulled his family’s spell book in front of him and flipped around looking for a couple potions, poultices, or talismans that might be of value to trade with the Indian shaman. 

It was ten the next morning when Bucky was ready. With a beaten canvas satchel filled with trade over his shoulder and his Sunday best on, he exited his family’s apartment and hopped a couple trains to the Bronx. The only Indian shaman in the city of New York lived and worked out of a basement apartment that was only distinguishable by the sound of wind chimes and the smell of wood smoke. 

“I’m here to trade for some abalone.” Bucky reached into his satchel and pulled out two jars of a tea like potion to cleans curse poisons and dark magic toxins from the body, and three talismans that keep oneself or home protected from evil things with a specific taste for human blood. 

The shaman picked up Bucky’s offerings and held each in his palm for a breath before putting them back down again. Without a word he walked to his seemingly disorganized shelves filled with spiritual and magical things. He pulled down a large jar filled with shells gently shimmering in a rainbow’s range of colors. 

“You’ll want a shell to wear, yes?” the man asked rhetorically as he gingerly sifted through the shells and pulled out a beautiful piece of abalone that hummed with soothing magic sending peaceful feelings toward Bucky without even touching it. 

“Yeah,” Bucky blew out a breath and swallowed thickly. “That’s the one.”

The shaman nodded. “I thought so.” 

Bucky pulled out a well-worn white handkerchief and gently folded the cloth around the shell when the shaman placed it in his palm. He placed the folded bundle in his breast pocket and looked back up at the shaman, waiting. 

The man had been rummaging around in the jar some more pulling out small slivers and chips and dropping them one by one into a small manila envelope. He sealed it and handed it over to Bucky with an air of finality. 

“Thanks.” Bucky took the envelope and slipped it in the pocket next to the folded handkerchief and turned toward the door without another word. Witches and the like were usually pretty insular and solitary. It wasn’t unusual for the older more traditional ones to dislike others not of their own traditions to linger. 

“I believe the spirits will protect and guide your dying into the next life,” the shaman said as parting words. 

Bucky paused at the door and glanced back at the man feeling sadness and gratitude. “Thank you,” he murmured again and quickly left the retreating sound of wind chimes followed him to the closest subway station to head back to Brooklyn. 

Before he got home and started weaving Sarah’s dying potion, he still needed to buy some of the ingredients from the florist’s. Bucky’s always suspected that the florist had a witch somewhere in his family ‘cause his selection of product was suspiciously well suited to spells, potions, and talismans. 

The whole neighborhood knew that Sarah Rogers was dying so when Bucky stepped into the shop and drifted down the aisles picking the fullest most beautiful blooms, the owner just gave him a sad smile and wrapped the flowers in brown paper without saying a word. He stepped out of the florist’s eight pennies poorer and not regretting a single cent. 

Bucky’s mother, father, and sister had cleared out of the apartment for the day so that he could put all his attention and focus on Sarah’s potion. As was the tradition in their household; powerful, personally important spell work was always done in respectful solitude. 

The herbs have been picked from the Barnes’ garden, jars of ingredients from Bucky’s personal collection, and all of the newly acquired items were all lined up on the worn smooth, scared up surface of the kitchen table. The antique engraved dagger and ancient stone mortar and pestle Winifred brought with her from the mother land were set next to the dented copper pot the Barnes family did all their spell work in. Just like his mother taught him, he put his ingredients in order of use. 

With his shirt sleeves rolled up Bucky got to work. 

He picked three petals from the single white rose he bought and minced them while he focused his mind on his deepest memories of Sarah Rogers. Scooping the finely minced petals into his palm he dropped them into the mortar and voiced aloud what the flower contributes to the spell giving the magic just a little push.

“The inherent innocence of her soul, my reverence of her, and the silence in which she endures hardships.”

He pulled three yellow catkins from the stock of pussy willow he bought and got to work chopping them as finely as possible before sprinkling them in the mortar. “My sadness, her sadness, and the easing of our sadness.”

The stock of rosemary cut from the garden, he picked three of its purple flowers and they went into the mortar shredded and minced. 

“Remembrance. She’ll remember her loved ones and we’ll remember her.”

Three pink carnation petals were minced and put in the mortar and he had to hurriedly wipe his face on his shoulder lest his tears fall in the spell too soon. 

“I’ll never forget her.”

He plucked one of the three lily flowers from the stock and began cutting the entire thing into tiny pieces. It was pink because in this type of magic the color of the lilies doesn’t matter and pink is Sarah’s favorite color. 

“Restore the purity of her soul after her death.”

Last of the flowers, three yellow petals from a yellow rose were minced and added to the others. 

“A promise of a new beginning.”

There was one last living thing that needed to go into the mortar before he could start to grind the ingredients into a smooth paste and it was three emerald green shamrocks. Truly the only reason clover was even growing in the Barnes’ garden, considering it wasn’t hardly ever used in the Romanian magic they practiced, was because Bucky insisted on brewing a potion or weaving a spell every time Steve Rogers got sick. Which was distressingly often. 

Shamrocks were a Gaelic magic, Irish magic, with heavy enough ties to that land that it was unwieldy for foreign witches to use it. Bucky had come to a sort of agreement with the Gaelic magics, though, considering he used a good portion of his own magic keeping a Son of Ireland alive. It also had Christian roots which some witches found discomforting. Bucky had known nothing but love and acceptance from the Followers of Christ so he didn’t have a problem calling upon the magic’s benevolence to the benefit of those he loved. 

In went each shamrock, one at a time as Bucky spoke what they represented, what they called on, for the magic to hear. 

“The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. The beliefs of her homeland, sooth and protect and care for her.”

He could feel the familiar attention of the foreign magic turn to him, but he focused on his task. Sarah’s spell was at the forefront of his mind, all else was background noise. 

All the ingredients prepared and waiting in the mortar, Bucky picked up the pestle and began to ground and pound the growing things into a pure white paste. By all rights it should have been an unappetizing color of muddy green-brown, but magic was funny like that. So he scraped the white paste into the copper pot and wiped the mortar clean with one of the faded dishcloths they kept in a kitchen drawer. He was going to use it again before the spell was finished. 

The Barnes children had been taught to keep their own kitchen magic stores, to gather them too, so Bucky already had the evening’s dew gathered on a new moon to add to the potion. 

“The end of a day and the beginning of an eternal cycle.”

He unscrewed the jar and emptied all the dew into the copper pot. Immediately it blended with the paste and the mixture smoothed out into a thick cream. 

Not all potions or spells required heat to activate the properties of the ingredients’ magic, to meld the magics together, but a death spell did. Bucky lit a burner on the Barnes’ well-used, scrubbed clean stove, set the copper pot on it, and began to stir. This was when he must pour more of his magic, more of himself, into the weave. 

So he thought about Sarah as he stirred her spell’s potion. He thought about how gentle her hands are when she’s cleaning and bandaging a scraped knee. The smell of sunshine and lavender that followed her everywhere. The sound of her laugh, gentle, bright, and unfortunately rare. The look of pride and unconditional love in her blue eyes when she looked at her miracle of a son. The fond exasperation on her face when Bucky and Steve showed up at her door with black-eyes and split-lips. 

The kindness she always showed him, the love and acceptance. He thought about how much he, himself, was going to miss her when she was gone. 

Three simple tears slipped down his cheek and fell into the potion turning it a clear ocean blue. 

He turned off the fire and moved the pot off the burner then turned back to the kitchen table. Sitting to the side away from the other ingredients were the envelope of chipped abalone shells and the handkerchief folded around the whole shell. 

Grabbing the envelope, Bucky upended it and watched the chips and slivers of shell tumble into the mortar. He ground them down into a fine powder with the pestle while speaking to the Native magics of the land he and Sarah call home. 

“Spirts of this native land and sea, lend your healing to sooth and calm Sarah. Lend your compassion and love to her and bring her peace.”

Sage, almost universally thought of as purifying, used in magics around the world, was the last ingredient in the spell. Bucky picked up the bundle of dried sage that hung in the kitchen window to be added to almost all the spells woven in their house. Then he struck a match and lit it aflame. He blew it out so the sage smoldered sending fragrant smoke curling into the air. 

He tapped the bundle against the side of the mortar three times, because there was power in threes and he’d already called upon the Christian Trinity, sprinkling ash into the mortar as he asked,

“These two spirits, abalone and sage, send our message to Heaven to help guide Sarah on her journey.”

The ash and abalone were poured into the copper pot and slowly stirred in with the creamy potion. It turned a beautiful shimmery pearlescent color and thickened into a lotion consistency. Bucky swept a hand over the pot toward his nose to check everything was as it should be. The scent of flowers, rosemary, and the sea wafted toward him in turn. It brought a ghost of the feelings of calm and peace to him. 

It was perfect, and it was time to pour it into one of the purified mason jars they kept specifically to contain creations of magic. 

The time of lunch had passed without notice and dinner would follow its example. Bucky’s work wasn’t quite done yet. He left Sarah’s spelled lotion to settle and cool. Turning his attention to the last bit of magic he was going to perform that day, he began Sarah’s abalone talisman to take with her on her journey into the next life.

The Barnes witches kept a collection of tools and supplies to make talismans and Bucky was well practiced at turning items of magic into jewelry. It was delicate work. For all that abalone shells were akin to armor, hand drilling small holes around the edges was a cautious endeavor. But Bucky had the most adept hands at such detailed work and he had it finished without mishap.

In deft motions incongruous with the size of his hands, Bucky wove white, pink, and blue threads into an intricate pattern that reflected Gaelic tradition. Normally he wouldn’t know where to even begin that, but it seemed Sarah’s homeland was willing to lend some of its magic and guide his hand. 

“White for purity in death,” he murmured while he worked. “Pink because it’s her favorite.” A small smile flittered across his lips. “Blue for the sea. Abalone comes from the sea. Ireland is surrounded by the sea. Sarah traveled to this land upon the sea. She made her new home near the sea.” He finished the long intricately knotted cord and picked up a needle to thread it through the small holes wrapping it around the shell.

The work went faster from there. Soon the abalone shelled was circled in the Gaelic knotted white, pink, and blue cord. A simple knot tried the two ends of the cord at the top of the shell and Bucky picked up a round toggle with a Romanian magic symbol etched on it. He tied a loop in the end of one of the dangling ends of cord and tied the toggle to the other. 

Slipping the necklace talisman into his pocket, Bucky gathered up the still mostly whole and blooming flowers spread out on the kitchen table. He bundled them into a small eclectic bouquet and tied it with a pink ribbon he borrowed from his sister’s collection. She’d be annoyed and make him replace it, but needs must. 

Hasty fingers combed through his hair mostly making it fall where it should. He buttoned his cuffs back at his wrist, tugged his jacket on, slipped the jar of magic lotion into his jacket pocket, and rushed out the door. The sun was setting, well on its way to dusk and if he didn’t hurry he’d have to sneak his way into the hospital to see Sarah. 

When he got to the hospital the doors were still open and when he got to the hospice ward he saw Steve and Father George step out of the room. 

His heart was in his throat thinking he was too late. The talisman pulsed in his pocket and he sighed in relief. 

“Bucky.” Steve’s voice was thick, his register lowered with grief and exhaustion. 

“Hey, Stevie. How’s she doing?” Bucky walked up to his best friend, his brother in all but blood and grasped his shoulder. 

Father George nodded solemnly to the young men. “I’ll return in the morning to visit her again,” he said and with a quiet thanks from Steve took his leave. 

Bucky turned his gaze back to Steve and his friend brushed blond hair away from his eyes. A habit, a tell for his worry. “She asked for Last Rights. We don’t know exactly how long she has and she wanted them today.” 

“Shit.” Bucky sighed and rubbed an anxious hand at his forehead. “Is it okay if I go in and see her? I have something I’d like to give her.”

Steve studied his friend and a small, sad, thankful smile curled at his lips. The Barnes’ being witches was not to be spoken of aloud outside of the trusted few, but he and Bucky had long since learned to communicate with just their eyes. He knew his brother in all but blood had some kind of gift of magic meant to help his mother. 

“She’d definitely like to see you. You know she loves you like the second son she never wanted.” 

Bucky scoffed and shoved at Steve’s shoulder. “Shut up, you punk.”

His friend grinned for the first time since news of Sarah’s inevitable end. “Jerk.”

It was a beautiful sight and gave Bucky a burst of love for his brother. 

“I’m gonna head home. Ma said she has the nurses in her pocket and if I try to stay the night they have instructions to drag me out by my ear.” 

Both young men chuckled. When they quieted again, Bucky pulled Steve into a tight hug and murmured into his ear. “She’s going to be okay, Stevie. You know that, right?” 

Steve released a shaky breath and nodded against Bucky’s shoulder then stepped back. “Yeah, I know.” He straightened his back, as far as his scoliosis would allow, and put his brave face on. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The friends parted ways and Bucky found himself opening the door to Sarah Rogers’ hospital room. 

She was pale and gaunt with dark shadows under her eyes. Her long blond hair was lank and missing its shine in the loosely woven braid trailing over her shoulder. 

Yet when their eyes met, hers were still clear ocean blue and brightening at his presence. 

“Bucky, you’ve come to visit me,” she called in her lilting Gaelic drawl smiling at him. He couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Of course I did, Mama Sarah. How could I not?” He took the hand she held out to him and let her pull him down to sit on the edge of her bed, setting the bouquet on the bedside table. 

“I’m sure a handsome young man like you has better things to do than to visit a dying old woman.”

Bucky scoffed. “You’re only sixteen years older than me, Sarah. You’re nowhere near old.”

She gave him a mischievous grin. “But old enough to be your mother.” 

“Technically.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

Sarah’s lighthearted teasing expression saddened and she squeezed Bucky’s hand. “And I am dying.” 

“You know, Sarah,” Bucky said threading their fingers together and squeezing back, “if there was something I could do to stop it, to heal you…”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she laid her free hand against his cheek her thumb brushing away the tear he didn’t realize had slipped free. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s just my time.”

He sucked in a shaky breath and brought a hand up to grasp the one cradling his cheek and thread those fingers together as well. 

“None of us are ready to let you go. Steve isn’t ready, he needs you.”

Sarah gave him a gentle knowing smile. “Steve doesn’t need me anymore. He wants me to stay, of course I want to stay too, but that’s not possible. And I’m ready.” Her eyes brightened and her smile turned wistful. “I’m ready to see my Joseph again.” 

He couldn’t keep his sad expression quite so dire at that. His lips curled into a smile to match hers. He was truly happy that she would be reunited with her love soon. “I’m sure he’s ready to see you, too.”

A snort cut through the heavy air and Sarah smirked. “Well, he better be. He knows what I’ll do to him if he’s not waiting for me at the pearly gates.” 

Bucky grinned and shook his head. “On your deathbed and you’re still as feisty as ever.”

“Mm, must be the Irish in me.” They would have shared a laugh at that except Sarah released Bucky’s hand to grab a white tissue from the bedside table and start coughing into it. 

It was painful sounding, like fluid and rocks rattling around in her lungs. There was nothing Bucky could do, but help pull her into a sitting position and gently rub her back. When the fit finally tapered off and the white tissue was stained with blood. He stood to pour her a small glass of water from the pitcher nearby and help her take small sips.

She took a crackling breath and let Bucky ease her back down against her pillows propped up enough to help her breath and still be comfortable. 

“Thank you, Bucky.”

“Of course, Sarah.” He set the water glass on the bedside table and sat back down on the edge of her bed. “I have something for you,” he said. 

Sarah smiled wanly at him. “I thought you might.”

Bucky huffed, but started pulling out the necklace and lotion from his pocket. “You know me too well.” 

“Well, I did practically help raise you right next to my Steven.” 

He rolled his eyes. “Sure you did.”

Sarah reached out and took the lovingly handmade necklace of abalone and thread from the palm of his hand. “It’s beautiful, Bucky. What does it mean?”

Steve at the age of eight was so sick the priest was called to give him Last Rights. Bucky had been so scared he threw caution to the wind and at the unpracticed age of nine snuck into the Rogers’ apartment in the middle of the night to do a spell of healing and life over Steve’s sick bed. Of course nine year-olds aren’t stealthy in the least and Sarah Rogers walked in just as Bucky was painting crooked childish symbols on her dying son’s forehead. 

Needless to say there had been panic and screaming and dragging down the street by the ear and finally Winifred Barnes explaining to a terrified distraught Sarah Rogers that her son had befriended a family of Romanian witches. Good, benevolent, kitchen witches. It took a while, Bucky was banned from the Rogers’ home, paddled, denied desert for the rest of the year (it was December, his parents were cruel), and made to copy his symbols and glyphs until his fingers ached. But Steve made a miraculous recovery and Sarah Rogers read the bible and prayed for guidance. 

Winifred, when she had been telling Sarah about her family’s practice and beliefs, made damn sure it was clear there was absolutely to pacts with the devil being made in their traditions. It was blasphemous and usually punishable by banishment to Hell. But that’s a story for another time. 

Since the bible specified witches with pacts of evil and the Barnes only practiced for good, Sarah decided to have faith and allow Bucky, and by extension his family, back into their lives. Bucky did save Steve’s life after all. There couldn’t be an evil bone in his body. 

Bucky watched Sarah turn her talisman over in her hand, her thin pale fingers stroking along the cord and shell reverently. 

“Abalone is Indian magic, it’ll help you stay calm, be at peace,” he told her quietly still watching her explore her gift. “The cord knotting is Gaelic and will keep you from getting lost on your journey to your Afterlife.”

“White, pink and blue?” She rubbed her thumbs over the thin cord wrapped around the shell, glancing up at him. 

“White for the purity of death. Blue for the sea and all the many ways it has affected you.” Bucky grinned then. “And pink because it is your favorite.” 

Sarah smiled at that. “And this?” She fingered the toggle feeling along the etched symbol. 

“Means love in Romanian tradition.” Bucky blushed a little at that. It wasn’t as though his regard for her was a secret, but he was a young man and plain expression of emotion was still awkward for him. 

“Oh, dear heart,” Sarah sighed and reached out to him with deceptively strong hands and pulled him into a warm steady hug. “I love you, too. Love you like you were my blood.” 

Bucky’s breath hitched and he didn’t let go for a long moment. When the embrace ended neither of them had dry eyes though no tears had been shed. 

Sarah held the necklace out to Bucky. “Put it on for me.”

Bucky gently took it from her and when she lifted her head, he slipped his hands under her braid and secured the toggle. When he pulled back the abalone gave a faint tremble as it settled in hollow of Sarah’s throat. 

“Oh,” she gasped and lifted her fingers to brush against the shell in surprise. “I can feel it. Like my mind is calm and clear. Thank you, Bucky.” She lay back against her pillows just touching the shell and feeling its magic. 

“I have something else for you.” Bucky picked up the lotion, bringing it to her attention. 

“You’ve done so much already, Bucky,” she protested.

“And it will never be enough,” he replied, the honest belief in his words silencing any other objections. 

“This,” he unscrewed the jar and handed it to Sarah to inspect, “is a lotion type potion I brewed for you, to ease your symptoms. It won’t heal you, but it’ll keep you from feeling the effects of your-,” he cleared his tightening throat, “of your disease. From feeling it as your body dies.” 

Sarah brought the jar up to her nose and sniffed it lightly. She took a longer time than necessary examining the potion to give Bucky time to settle himself. 

“It’s a beautiful color and it smells lovely.”

“There’s some crushed abalone in it. That’s what makes it look like that.” Bucky took the jar back when she offered it. 

“Well, get on with it. I’m curious to see you work your magic.” She grinned at him and gave an imperious wave of her hand. “I feel a cough coming on, hurry up.” 

Bucky chuckled. “It’s uh- pretty involved magic. I’m gonna have to-,” he coughed awkwardly blushing even brighter than before, “to massage the lotion into your skin.”

“Oh, well.” Sarah blinked in surprise, but figured she was dying anyway and had long since grown used to rolling with the punches when it came to her boys. “It better be a good massage then. I’m a dying woman. This is the last chance I’m ever gonna get.”

His shoulders slumped in relief and Bucky was able to shrug off the rest of his embarrassment. Sarah’s lighthearted acceptance was all the reassurance he needed. He shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves again. Having as much free range of motion as possible was better when working magic as involved as a death spell.

Scooping up a good dollop with his fingers Bucky took one of Sarah’s hands and gently spread the pearlescent lotion over her soft skin and fine bones. “I hope my voice doesn’t make you deaf on top of everything else.”

With that he began to press on her energy points in soothing rhythmic motions and sing the spell only his mother’s family weaves into the death spell. 

“In the circle of life,  
Must we move, all  
Guided by despair and hope,  
By faith and love,  
Must we travel, all  
To find our place  
Along the eternal path unwinding  
To the end of the circle of life”

Over her hands, along her fingers up and down her arm from her wrist to her elbow, Bucky sang her spell and felt the lotion warm as the magic began to sink into her. 

By the time the verse was done, Sarah’s arms were tingling pleasantly and Bucky was ready to start again. Humming to keep the magic flowing in the lull, he carefully freed her hair from its braid and finger combed the tangles. Getting more lotion on his fingers he swept a pearlescent stripe over her forehead, down her nose and along her cheek bones. Sarah’s eyes fluttered closed and Bucky began to sing the spell again. 

He massaged in the lotion over her face and down her throat. Then he scooped up some more and rubbed it into her scalp and down to the tips of her hair. He touched all of her energy points and helped the magic soak through them and deeper into her body. 

When he was finished with her hair, Sarah was so relaxed and soothed her entire body was humming. It felt like she could finally take a deep breath for the first time in months. She didn’t even twitch when Bucky moved to the foot of her bed and pulled the blankets aside, picking up her feet and resting them in his lap. 

Retrieving the last of the lotion from the jar, Bucky set it aside and started to sing the spell for the last time, working the magic into her feet and the delicate bones of her ankles. 

When the last notes of the spell faded into silence and the magic was done, Bucky and Sarah sat quietly together. Both of them were content to just feel the warm comforting pulse in the air. 

“You have a beautiful voice,” Sarah murmured watching Bucky cover her feet with her blankets.

He smiled softly at her and moved back up to the head of her bed. “Thank you.” 

Sarah’s hair once again shown like the sun was reflecting off the strands and there was color back in her cheeks. She looked more alive than she had in weeks though she was closer to death than ever.

“I feel wonderful. Like I can finally get some rest.” She sighed happily and smiled warmly when Bucky gathered up her hair and began to weave it into a cleaner, more fitting braid for a woman like Sarah Rogers.

He settled her braid over her shoulder and tucked a stray flyaway behind her ear. Leaning down, he closed his eyes and kissed her forehead softly. The magic inside her was ebbing and flowing so gently, like sleepy surf washing up on the beach, and he knew her time was coming very soon. 

“Then get some rest, Sarah,” he murmured pulling back and meeting her crystal clear, ocean blue eyes as they fluttered open to look at him. “You’ve earned your rest.” 

Sarah hummed absently in agreement and lifted a hand to cradle Bucky’s cheek once before she brought it back to her side pulled the blankest up to her shoulders getting comfortable. 

“Take care of my Steven, Bucky,” she gave him a last motherly command and a warm smile then she closed her eyes and fell into the most restful sleep she’d had in her life.

“I promise,” he whispered.

He stayed to watch her sleep for a long moment, just feeling the magic soothing her. Then righted his sleeves and gathered up his jacket. He pocketed the empty jar and put the forgotten bouquet of flowers in the half empty water glass. Bucky left Sarah to her rest and headed home.

The next afternoon news came that Sarah Rogers passed away with her son beside her holding her hand. Bucky had known the moment her spirit departed because the magic of the spell had released in a quiet ripple. She had just wanted to stay long enough to have one last conversation with her son, to see him, and tell him she loved him. 

And because Steve trusted Bucky down to his bones and had faith in his magic he made sure his mother was buried still wearing her abalone shell talisman. 

*

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky’s spell was rewritten from the song in _The Lion King_ (1994).


End file.
